


looking for nothing short of a miracle

by d4nflint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, The Voice AU, also still dk how to use ao3 either, i still don't understand this tagging thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d4nflint/pseuds/d4nflint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Louis is in a band, and is a judge for The Voice. Harry's gone to the blind auditions only because he and Niall signed up as a joke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	looking for nothing short of a miracle

**Author's Note:**

> um tbh i don't rly watch the voice apart from the blind auditions sometimes so yeah. also i don't own One Direction, nor do i own any notable persons or The Voice. all mistakes are mine. i'm still fairly new to this writing slash thing anddddd yeah. basically it's [Matthew Schuler's audition](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9l4Aek15HU) as Harry's and [Taylor Phelan's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fk5t_jw0vKQ) as Niall's. and also Best Song Ever era bc the hair was all on point
> 
> title from Crown The Empire's Millennia

Harry always thought that the behind-the-scenes and backstage bits of a popular reality TV show would be all fancy with  _actual_ places to sit. It's not. Not really, anyway, because he's sat on the floor. And there _are_ places to sit; mostly they're just tables where you could perch yourself on, and that one table where you don't go to unless the host — Harry, for the  _life_ of him, can't remember his name — calls you over to do that bit where they focus more on you, and stuff. 

Distantly, the sound of someone's audition filters through over to the backstage area where they're waiting for their turn, but apart from that — it's kind of deadly silent. Niall grumbles, manoeuvring himself so that he's flat on his back on the floor, head nestled in Harry's lap, brows furrowing together. "'s so  _quiet_ and 'm  _hungry_ and I want to  _die._ "

Harry scoffs, but he cards his fingers through Niall's bleached strands with utmost gentleness — kind of contradicting the frown on his face.

"They're  _nervous,_ Ni. Honestly — I reckon we're the only two people who signed up because we were  _bored_ and shit. Like— they actually want to, you know— do... _good_."

"Well."

"Well what?" Harry peers down at him.

Niall cracks open an eye. "Do  _well._ Not do _good_."

Harry scowls. "I know that.  _I'm_ the one who does more English-y stuff, thank you very much."

"Says a lot, then, yeah?" Niall beams cheerfully, pausing mid-sentence when someone calls Harry's name. He pulls himself into an upright position, patting Harry's cheek with a grin. "— an engineering major has better English than you. And  _where_ are our family and friends?"

"Firstly—" Harry gets to his feet, too. "Fuck off." He offers the blond a cheeky grin, to which he's responded to with a roll of blue,  _blue_  eyes and a flash of metal braces on teeth. "Secondly—"

"I'm here, I'm — oh  _fuck_  I'm so sorry oh my god _—_  'm here!" A voice yells out and predictably, everyone turns in that direction, partly because he'd kicked someone's bag whilst in his haste to get to Harry and Niall, but Harry reckons it's _mostly_ because he's  _Zayn._ Ridiculously good-looking  _and_ with an accent  _and_ tattoos? Yeah— Harry would stare, too, if he wasn't seventy eight percent immune to Zayn being so  _Zayn._

"Finally," Harry and Niall say in unison, rolling their eyes in mock exasperation as Zayn finally reaches them, catching his breath like he'd just run a marathon when he'd probably only started to hasten his pace when he'd entered the room.

Zayn Malik does not run for anything — he walks with a permanent smoulder on his face, like he's on a damn fashion runway, and his eyes lidded like he's struggling to see even if he's indoors and there's no bright light present  _anywhere._

Harry's name is called again, and this time, all three of them walk towards the source of the voice. It's a man in a black t-shirt and a headset and a frazzled frown on his face. He lights up the slightest bit, though, when the three lads finally come up to him — all with grins ready for him. (And it escapes approximately no one's notice that his —  _Liam Payne, Executive Producer_ as it says on the little badge he's got pinned on his t-shirt — gaze seems to linger on Zayn longer.) 

"Harry Styles?" He — Liam — asks, peering at his clipboard, eyes darting between the three of them (only to go back to Zayn again and again. Zayn's biting on his bottom lip in his supposed casual  _I just bite my lips a lot_ way but really is—  _Jesus fuck, you're attractive, please have sex with me_ ). (They've been friends for  _way_ too long.)

Harry takes a small step forward, offering Liam an outstretched hand. "That's me, yeah," he drawls out, a charming grin flitting onto his face. 

Liam almost snaps his neck to look back at Harry, cheeks flushing the slightest bit in embarrassment (and Harry  _swears_ he hears Zayn bite back some kind of  _whine_ , what the fuck). Then he darts his eyes down to Harry's outstretched hand before fumbling with his clipboard, "Oh uh. Hi, Harry. I'm Liam, and — um. You're next, so you'll need to follow me, and your  _friends—_ " his eyes go straight to Zayn at that word. "— can follow Cher to the area where they'll be able to watch your audition." He waves over a girl, dark-haired and with tattoos lining up her thin arms. Niall's grin turns a bit filthy at the sight of her. 

Cher seems to be completely disinterested in the looks that Niall is sending her, and is instead chewing on some gum as she waits, probably a bit impatiently, for Niall and Zayn to actually  _follow_ her to the place she's supposed to lead them to. Niall turns to Harry, grin blinding again, and pulls the younger into a hug. "Good luck, don't fuck up." 

" _You_ don't fuck up. She looks like she might eat you alive if you even _try_ to hit on her," Harry mumbles into Niall's ear, smiling when Niall throws his head back and actually  _cackles._ When they pull apart, Niall offers Harry a wink that promises nothing good, before running his fingers through his hair.  _Idiot._

Zayn wraps him up into a hug too, pulling back to place a hand on either side of his head (carefully not messing up his hair because  _he_ was the one to get his curls into that quiff it's in now, before he'd gone for his classes whilst Niall and Harry went to the auditions), and presses a rough kiss on his cheek. "You're gonna _kill_ it, Haz. Chill."

"I'm not even nervous!" Harry protests, smacking at Zayn's wrist, rolling his eyes. "Go away, and watch me maybe fuck up. It'll be entertaining." 

"You're in for a surprise, mate." Niall says, and then he's cackling again — and Harry's  _suddenly_ really nervous. He blinks, wide-eyed, at Niall, who only shrugs, and widens his grin in response. "You haven't seen who's on the judging panel, have you?" And then he's walking away with his arm slung around Zayn, whilst simultaneously trying to chat Cher up (" _I'm going to be auditioning, too, you know. Later. After Harry. You should watch._ "), and leaving Harry to wonder exactly what  _the fuck_ did Niall actually get him into. 

\- - -

It's so dark and Harry can't see shit, except for the silhouettes of the audience, and the names on the back of the red chairs. There's Adam, Louis, Christina, then Blake. 

Harry's still a bit puzzled as to why Niall had said that he was in for a surprise. He's seen the show before, he knows this is the bit where he sings and then — if they like his voice — they'll turn, and he likes that concept. Singing's never been something that he'd wanted to do as a  _career,_ but he's not  _terrible_ at it. He can sing well enough to win a tiny battle of the bands competition four years prior, when he was about fifteen, and he can sing well enough to get a few spare change when Niall decides to get out his guitar and busk for the day— because college is  _expensive_ and if they've got day offs, they might as well try to get money from doing something they both enjoy and don't find as  _that_ much of a hardship. 

But _anyway._

It's dark, and there's no music to start him off because he'd gone with singing Cough Syrup and the first two lines would just be  _him._ No instruments as a backing track, not yet. So he takes in a deep breath, and it's so silent, and then he sings. His eyes shut on their own accord, singing the song that he's song plenty of times before in his bedroom, in the shower, whilst busking with his best mate. He barely even registers it— but he does. 

He peeks open his eyes, and the lights have come on, and there are four  _music legends_ staring back at him with grins on all of their faces.  _All four of them turned._ Harry almost fucks up and stops singing out of shock, but he doesn't — he carries on with the song, walking around the stage and dancing like a white dad at a barbecue party at some bits (and almost falls a couple of times because Harry hasn't exactly got the best balance under normal circumstance and the floor is  _slippery_ and the soles of his boots are also slippery, so). And when he finally drags out the last note, body bending back as he does so, the cheers grow louder. When he reopens his eyes and registers his surroundings again, all four judges are on their feet, grinning and clapping and —  _holy fuck that is Louis fucking Tomlinson._

Harry's eyes grow a bit wide, and he has no doubt that he looks ridiculous but—  _Louis. Tomlinson._

Grammy award winner for so many different things that Harry's just stopped keeping track, and the writer and singer of his most favourite songs, and the man that he's, unashamedly, wanked over for  _at least_ five years. 

He's going to murder Niall. 

They're still clapping, and cheering, and Harry's snapped out of his stunned state and is now laughing at nothing, fingers tugging at his quiff in case it got messed up during his performance. It hadn't, because Zayn used so much product that it almost rivalled how much  _Zayn_ used in  _his_ hair, but he needs something to do or he might end up accidentally professing his love for one Louis Tomlinson. 

Speaking of — Louis Tomlinson is  _standing on his chair_ and clapping,  _what the fuck._ Technically, so are Adam Levine and Christina Aguilera. But—

_But._

Louis Tomlinson is doing it, too. Now Blake Shelton is coming towards him to shake his hand— oh, look, Christina Aguilera's coming to  _hug_ him. Harry's about a hundred and seventeen percent sure that he's dreaming. 

"Well hot  _damn._ " Louis Tomlinson says.  _Louis Tomlinson is talking to him._ Harry might pass out. He keeps a grin on his face, hoping that it looks half as charming as he hopes it to be, and not as terrified and star-struck as he actually feels. "And _who_  are  _you,_ love?" Louis Tomlinson is so  _English,_ Harry wants to  _die._

He brings the microphone up to his mouth, though. "I'm, uh. Harry Styles."

"I am the coach for you." Christina says like it's fact— like she's telling him the sky is blue and grass is green and his shirt is half unbuttoned. 

"No, I am." Adam says right after, shaking his head and pointing to himself with both his pointer fingers.

"Right, I can settle this." Louis says before Christina and Adam can start one of their famous bickers. The other judges look at him with raised eyebrows. Louis grins, winking over at Harry. "He's English. We Brits have to stick together."

Harry almost chokes on his own spit. 

He doesn't say anything, though; instead opts to laugh, bringing a hand to the back of his neck as he ducks his head down shyly. He looks up when Blake starts talking, something about how he and his wife watch the blind auditions at home and how she would  _love_ him, and Harry flushes even more. Then Louis says something about how he'll help Harry  _own_ himself — and Harry almost falls at that because he is thinking about something  _else,_ and it is definitely sexual. Then Adam says something else, and then Christina says something about how he should help her be the first female coach to win, and really — winning hadn't even  _occurred_ as a  _possibility_ to Harry because this was all just a  _joke,_ but. He ends up picking Christina, anyway, figures that if he's already doing this, he  _might as well_ do it with a powerful vocalist helping him along the way. 

The other three judges all groan their complaints, but Louis.  _Louis —_ he narrows his eyes over at Harry and then he. He  _pouts._ He, honest to god,  _pouts_ his bottom lip like a petulant child and Harry  _really_ needs to get out of there before he does something stupid like  _accidentally_ kissing him on the lips under the stupid pretence (but not a hundred percent untrue) of not liking the pout on his face.

Harry is a teenaged girl. He is  _actually_ a twelve year old girl. 

A twelve year old girl who is still going to fucking murder an Irish twat by the name of Niall Horan.

\- - -

Niall's standing with Liam, his guitar slung across his back, and he's chatting idly with the other bloke— who looks about as confused as he did as when Harry had shook his hand and told him that he wasn't nervous. 

Harry marches right up to them, passing the microphone off to someone who'd made a move to take it from him, and before he can be dragged off to sign whatever he needs to, pokes Niall in the chest. "I fucking  _hate_ you and I am going to  _murder_ you."

Niall, predictably, takes one look at Harry and bursts out into uncontrollable laughter, bending forward and a hand reaching out to grab onto Harry so that he doesn't fall. " _Mate._ " He heaves out between laughter. "You should've seen your  _face_ when you saw him." 

"I hate you." Harry grumbles, crossing his arms across his chest in a disgruntled manner. Then before he can stop himself, "But did you see it? Mate. I got all  _four —_ like. So _fast_? I didn't think that would've ever happened, oh my god. I think 'm in shock, bro."

Niall pulls him into a hug at that. "'m so proud of you. Zayn and I both are." He mumbles into Harry's ear, his smile evident in his tone. Harry holds him back tightly, grin widening across his lips. "Okay, okay. Enough of that sappy shit. Now's my turn to shine. Reckon I could get a chair turn?"

"Ni." Harry places a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna get all four. 'm, like,  _pretty_ sure."

"Says you," Niall snorts with a chuckle. "I'd believe you if you were a music major or summat, but you're in fuckin' medicine, so excuse me if I don't believe you." Harry snorts. Niall grins again, slapping Harry on the bum. "Go join Zaynie and watch me probably fuck up."

"You're not gonna fuck up," Harry calls as Niall walks towards another crew member who is holding the curtain and listening intently to their ear monitor.

Niall waves him off over his shoulder, so Harry snorts out a laugh, before following another crew member who'd replaced Liam to the room where Zayn is waiting with his arms crossed and the smoulder in place — probably because there are other people in the room who are not-so-subtly glancing over at him every couple of minutes. Harry gets it — he'd be the same if Louis Tomlinson was in Zayn's place. He'd also probably not even bother with the faux subtlety and the "every couple of minutes" thing, instead just flat out stare at him because Louis Tomlinson.

He calls out an " _oi_ " when he walks into the room, Zayn turning with the smoulder in place only for it to drop in favour of a blinding smile. Harry swears he hears at least _three_ different people  _sigh_ at the sight of Zayn smiling. "Haz!" Zayn laughs, pulling him into a tight hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of the younger's neck. "That was  _sick_. You got, like, all of 'em to turn. It was fucking  _brilliant._ "

"Thanks, mate," Harry laughs shyly, shaking his head as he pulls away. "Can't believe Ni managed to keep the fact that Louis fuckin' Tomlinson was one of the judges from me." 

Zayn snickers, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "You did good enough for him to turn, and for him to say you two 'ave to stick together 'cause you're both Brits."

"That's what  _you_ said when we met."

"And look at us now!"

Harry pauses then he snorts out a laugh. "Al _right_ , Zayn. Sure. That instantly means something."

Zayn rolls his eyes, cuffing him gently on the back of his head. "Watch the damn TV thing."

\- - -

Niall fucking  _kills_ it. Harry had honestly expected all four of them to turn because Niall is amazing on guitar and he has a _really_ nice voice, and he wasn't wrong in expecting as such. Adam turns first, and Zayn and Harry both yell out simultaneous " _YES, Niall_ ", and when Blake, Louis and Christina turn within the next few seconds, it's got Zayn and Harry shouting again as their arms wrap around each other's shoulders, both with massive grins on their faces. 

The judges bicker again, as they try to get him to pick them as his coach. Niall ends up going with his "gut" and picking Louis — all the while with this smug smirk on his face, like he's doing it with an ulterior motive.

Which he probably did.

But Harry can't even find it in himself to be slightly annoyed because— they signed up as a joke and they  _both_ got four chair turns and now they're actually officially  _in_ the competition; they've a chance to _win._  

Who ever expected that to happen?

\- - -

They end up having to sign confidentiality agreements and shite, since the blind auditions are a pre-recorded thing and they're not exactly allowed to go around telling everyone they meet that they got four chair turns and picked  _so-and-so_ as their coach. Once they've done that, they think that they can go celebrate with a few pints, help Zayn try to get Liam to come along because lord knows that the former wouldn't make a move unless Liam comes up right to him and tells him that he'd  _like_ to spend time with Zayn because Zayn is a bit stupid like that. 

Only— they can't. Not yet, anyway, because they've to take a couple pictures, and then sign  _more_ confidentiality shit and then they're going to meet with their coaches, just to have a little chat and get to know each other. Most of the contestants end up introducing the coach they'd picked to their family and friends, since they're all there anyway, and then they'd chat for a bit before the coach moves on to the next contestant. Each coach has, like,  _a lot_ of contestants, and if they spent about ten minutes with each person— 

Harry and Niall end up slumped on a sofa with Zayn, waiting for about two hours.

Christina comes up to them first, greeting Harry with a magnificent smile that could make a person do things, and then she's pulling Harry into a hug. She's also  _quite_ short, and considering how Harry's almost abnormally tall, it's a bit awkward. But they make it work. 

When they pull away, she shakes a wide-eyed Zayn's hand. Zayn's got three sisters. He grew up with Disney movies. Meaning that he'd adored Reflection in Mulan, and looked it up on YouTube only to stumble upon the Christina Aguilera version and then he was smitten. For a guy who seems to be carefully collected in public, an aura of mystery surrounding him, Harry has caught him dancing in his room and singing along to Genie in a Bottle at the top of his lungs, or pretending to be in a music video whilst singing along to Hurt,  _way_ too many times for him to ever  _not_ think about it when he hears some students talk about Zayn in passing.

It's safe to say that Zayn's a  _fair_ bit starstruck. 

Christina smiles at him, not noticing his stiffness, before moving onto Niall— only for recognition to flit onto her face. "Hey!" She exclaims. Then she puts on a mock frown. "You didn't pick me as your coach."

Niall laughs, offering her a hand to shake. She does so, smiling back at him because he's  _Niall._ Not being infected by Niall's laugh and/or smile is like basically being without a soul or summat. "Sorry 'bout that, love. Cheers for turning around, though. Means a lot."

"Of course," Christina grins, nodding back at him. 

She opens her mouth to say something else, but someone interrupts her before she can get a word out with an " _Oi! Why are you talking to my contestant?!_ "

They all turn to look at the owner of the high voice, Christina scoffing when she sees him — rolling her eyes, for good measure. Harry just grins because if he doesn't then he's probably going to stare at him with an open mouth. Or faint. 

"I'm talking to  _my_ contestant," Christina shoots back, only to have Louis scoff, but with a grin that makes one side of his lips curl up higher than the other, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She can't seem to help the smile that flits onto her face and it's kind of adorable to see how well Louis fits in — even though Harry shouldn't be  _noticing_ stuff like that because that means that he's probably staring too hard. 

"You alright, Harold?" Louis grins, nodding over at him.

And Harry's caught off guard again because  _Louis Tomlinson actually exists and is talking to him._ (Louis Tomlinson is also kind of tiny and Harry wants to wrap him in a blanket like a taco and cuddle him for a very prolonged period of time.) Harry blinks a couple times before idly saying, "Not my name," and then, "'m alright, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm good, thank you." Louis beams. "Polite one, aren't you?" He asks idly, not waiting for a reply as he turns to Niall next. " _Niall,_ my  _man_! Doing good, I hope. Since I saw you last." Niall laughs at that like it's the funniest damn thing he's ever heard. Though, in retrospect, Niall laughs at  _everything_ like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. Niall's great like that. "What're you doing fraternising with the enemy?" He jokes, brows knotting together lightly as he waggles his finger between Niall and Harry. 

"Haz? The enemy?" Niall repeats, then he's laughing again. "Nah, mate. Me an' Haz been best mates since we were little— since I moved to Holmes Chapel."

"Cheshire?" Louis asks, and the three boys nod. "Nice. 'm from Doncaster, myself."  _I know,_ Harry doesn't say, because that would be very creepy. 

"Oh sick, 'm from Bradford." Zayn swoops in, because he is sometimes a wonderful human being and can tell when Harry doesn't know what else to say because anything else he has in mind might get him officially labelled as an overly obsessed fan — which he's not, _thank you very much._

Louis grins at Zayn. "Nice to have some English people around." His eyes seem to linger on Harry which is completely out the ordinary because his eyes should be lingering on  _Zayn,_ and not  _Harry,_ because  _Zayn_ is the one who looks like a fucking supermodel.

But Harry's not exactly going to complain.

"So what are you guys doing here?" Christina chimes in with a smile as she pulls Louis' arm off of her and goes to sit herself in the corner of the sofa, Louis following to perch on the arm rest as the other three spread out on the rest of the remaining space. Niall and Harry must look a bit puzzled— like she's asked a bit of a stupid question — but then she clarifies with a, "In America, I mean."

" _Oh._ " Harry and Niall draw out in unison. They're a bit slow sometimes, they're aware of that. 

"Uni." Niall shrugs a shoulder.

"Ni and I wanted t' travel and see the world and shite, y'know? But, like. Our parents wanted us to go to Uni, and, uh, we didn't wanna disappoint them, so we sorta— applied to a Uni where we could  _kind of_ travel around when we've got holidays. Like. You know."

"Road trips." Louis supplies helpfully. "I believe the term you're looking for is  _road trips,_ Harold."

Harry points at him with a grin. "Yeah. Road trips. That's the one. And Harold's still not m'name."

"Sucks for you 'cause I'm still calling you that." 

Christina slaps his arm playfully, "Stop harassing my contestant." 

"'s not harassment if he likes it, love." Louis winks.

"If the harassment's reported, then you could still get sued, and you'd probably lose because there's a circumstances of danger thing where it applies to any danger, including harassment." Harry says mindlessly before pausing and looking a bit wide-eyed at the two  _superstars_ in front of him. 

Zayn breaks the silence by wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulling him in with a laugh. "Studied law for a semester before switching over to medicine. Too emotional for that line of work," he mock-whispers, earning a whimper of annoyance from Harry and laughter from the others. 

It's easy after that — they talk idly and get to know each other, till Christina has to go talk to her other contestants. She hugs Harry again, offers the rest of them smiles, and a pinch in the side for Louis, before walking off. The boys would've expected Louis to have gone, too, but he stays and chats with them more because he'd been 'saving the best for last', meaning that he'd already had a chat with all his other contestants. 

So Harry spends most of the time re-telling stories about their lives for Louis, and trying to tell his jokes before Niall and/or Zayn cut him off because they  _hate_ his jokes, for some bizarre reason. Louis doesn't seem to mind, though, shaking his head and groaning with a smile on his face that almost looks fond — he should  _not_ look fond because they've literally only spoken, like, two times — and then responds with his own bad jokes before (what Harry thinks is)  _flirting_ with Harry. 

It's not like Harry's shocked that Louis may be interested in guys. He'd come out as bisexual a year ago, when he'd been spotted kissing a bloke, and he'd just shrugged and said he didn't see what the big deal was — so he liked girls  _and_ boys, so what?

Harry's skeptical because Harry is  _Harry_ and Louis is  _so_ far out of Harry's league that he might as well be playing a whole different game.

He says nothing about it—the flirting and sly touches—and carries on assuming that Louis' just the type to flirt a lot, so he flirts back, too.

And Harry doesn't exactly know how it happens, but it does, and the next thing he's aware of — they're making plans to meet up in a couple hours to grab a drink, all four of them because Zayn and Louis seem to get along so well that it's almost a bit terrifying (and it'll be  _five_ if Niall and Harry can somehow find Liam somewhere and get him to come along, too). 

"Oh, hey, you boys mind if I bring along a mate? He's a nice guy, promise." Louis grins, though he seems to be asking only Harry when he'd phrased the question like he was asking them all. Harry can't deal with all this attention. (He hopes it never stops.)

"Yeah, 'course," Harry grins back, because he can't help it. "Hey." He pauses. "D'you know the, uh, Executive Producer? Liam... Payne, I think." Louis nods. "Awesome. Know anywhere I could find him?" And it's  _definitely_ Harry's imagination that's taken over because there is  _no fucking way_ that Louis looks a bit sad, maybe even disappointed, at that. 

"He's— uh. He's the mate I was talking about. The one I wanted to bring along tonight? So. You'll see him later." Louis' grin looks a bit forced and Harry kind of hates it. A lot. 

" _Sweet._ " Harry beams, then because even if this  _is_ his imagination, he doesn't like the upset-looking Louis that he's looking at, he leans forward slightly and lowers his voice, "Zayn's got a bit of love of first sight with the bloke. Reckon he might feel the same because he kept lookin' back at Zaynie, too." 

And when Harry pulls back, he's caught off guard by the magnificent smile that lights up Louis' face, his eyes looking so damn blue and so damn bright. Harry wants to cry— no one should be allowed to  _look_ like that; especially since it's someone he, in a million years, cannot ever have.

\- - -

Fluorescent and multi-coloured lights are flashing around the dark interior of the club. Sweaty bodies are pressed up against each other as their hands are raised in the air, pumping to the beat of the electro-pop songs that the DJ's put on. It's dark, but it's not at the same time. It's hard to see, but once their eyes are fully adjusted to the flashing lights and general darkness of the club that's got music pulsating around the interior walls, they're gaining their sight back.

Louis, for how well-known his band actually is, surprisingly didn't get recognised. It wasn't until they'd settled into a booth with drinks of their choice (Louis insisted on buying) and had downed at least two shots each, that a couple of girls came up to their table and asked Louis to dance with them because they loved his music. Which, Harry didn't really understand because  _how_ did liking someone's music lead to them dancing with you? 

Niall had downed another shot before sliding out of the booth and winking at Harry before he made his way over to a redhead in figure hugging dress that had been, apparently, eyeing him since they'd walked into the club. Zayn and Liam, considering how shy they were when they realised that the other was present for their night out, are looking surprisingly comfy, pressed up against each other as they chat in hushed voices. Harry gives it another ten minutes before they decide to get out of the club and go somewhere else. 

So basically, Harry's alone. In a club. All in all, it kind of sucks, because no matter how many times he catches the eye of a pretty girl or handsome boy, his mind's hung up on Louis Tomlinson in his stupid rolled up skinnies and short-sleeved button down that he is most definitely  _rocking,_ considering the way his biceps look  _massive_ in the shirt. 

Harry wants to  _scream._

He downs the last of the beer he had in his hand before sliding out of the booth. He doesn't bother with telling Zayn and Liam that he's going over to the bar because they're too wrapped up in each other to even  _notice_ him. Harry barely even makes it to the bar, is the thing. A hand lays itself on his forearm, and then that hand is curling itself around his arm and tugging him forward and into the middle of the dance floor. Harry stumbles as he's being pulled forwards — unsure if he should be yanking his arm away and telling whoever it is off, or just going along with it because this person seems to be interested in him and he's definitely not going to get luck with Louis so— 

They stop walking, and Harry's too caught up in his thoughts to notice as much and ends up walking straight into their back. He blinks blearily. "Oops."

They turn and—  _oh._ "Hi." Louis grins back at him, his smile wide and almost shy, at the same time, and his eyes are fucking  _glinting_ like he's a princess in a fairy tale.

Harry gulps. "Hey."

"Dance with me," and Louis doesn't even wait for Harry to say anything in response, just turns again so that his back is to Harry's chest and he's bringing Harry's hands to his hips as he grinds back, arms stretching over his head to wrap around Harry's neck.

Harry's never been big on dancing. But— the thing _is._ Louis is properly  _grinding_ on him and Louis' bum is so  _fantastic_ and—

Louis turns, tongue darting across his lips. "What would you do if I kissed you?" His voice is soft, so soft, but Harry hears it like he'd shouted it from across the room.

Harry's eyes flicker down to Louis' lips before he can stop them. He darts his eyes back to Louis' eyes, only to drop back down to Louis' lips because his lips are so _pink_ and Harry bets he tastes  _amazing_ and— 

Harry doesn't even try to stop himself as he leans down and kisses Louis. He knows he shouldn't because Louis is a judge on the singing competition that he is in, because Louis is in a world famous band, because Louis is _Louis._ But Harry can't find it in himself to give a damn because _Louis is kissing him back._

Louis kisses like the punk he looks like. He's all rough and hurried, nipping at his bottom lip with his teeth, pulling his bottom lip before diving right back in and slipping his tongue into Harry's mouth, kissing him more thoroughly than Harry's been kissed in a couple of months. It's great. 

Harry wonders, briefly, why no one's taking their photo because  _Louis Tomlinson is making out with someone in a club_ but then he realises that Louis had actually somehow managed to pull them away from most of the crowd — instead crowding Harry up in a dark corner where the only people around them are the ones that are doing the same thing that they are, or are too stoned and/or pissed to even react to them. Then he stops wondering about insignificant shite like that because— Louis presses himself onto Harry, so that they're chest to chest, hip to hip, and then he's kissing the younger like he's almost  _desperate_ for it. Harry never wants to stop.

Louis pulls away, and Harry  _actually_ whines. He  _just_ thought about never stopping and Louis just  _had_ to stop, didn't he? 

Harry tries to chase Louis' mouth as he goes, but Louis laughs, nudging his forehead with his own. "Fancy getting out of here?" He kisses Harry again, like he can't help himself.

Harry understands the feeling. " _Definitely,_ " he breathes out before ducking in to kiss Louis again.

"Okay."  _Kiss._ "Let's go."

"Okay."  _Kiss._ "Lead the way."

 _Kiss._ "Now."  _Kiss._

Harry grabs Louis' chin between his fingers, grinning before pressing his mouth firmly against Louis' once more. For the last time, he promises himself.  _For now._ "Let's go," he says as he finally pulls away, enjoying the blissed out look on Louis' face, before pulling on a filthy smirk onto his lips, biting onto his bottom one, just for good measure— to get some kind of reaction out of Louis.

Louis groans, then he slips his hand into Harry's and legitimately  _drags_ the younger out of the club. Harry laughs. He got a reaction, all right.

And Harry's quite certain it was the  _exact_ reaction he was hoping for.

\- - -

("I hope you don't think this means I'm going to, like, rig anything so you win. 'cause, you know. You're not that good."

Harry snorts, not even bothered. "Yeah?" He arches a brow and Louis nods. "Then why'd you turn?"

"You were hot," Louis shrugs a shoulder, grinning and eyes travelling down Harry's naked body shamelessly. 

"You had your chair  _turned away from me._ "

"Okay— you  _sounded_ hot."

"So you wouldn't mind me losing, only 'cause I was hot?" 

"Harry?"

"Yes, Lou?"

"Shut up."

"Not until I get an answer because —  _mmpfh —_ okay, yeah, I can work with this. Kissing. Kissing is good.") 

 

 

 


End file.
